Sunday, July 10, 2016

To
Morgana's right, Eluani stood stock-still, channeling all of her
concentration into the verification of the woman's answers.
“Lieutenant Sonja J. Farrell,” the woman answered monotonously,
“Master Archmage of the Aldinian military. My commanding officer
for this particular mission was King Harkinian himself, though this
was an unusual case. Normally, I defer to Captain Roy Shuster.”

Morgana
looked to Eluani, who nodded in the affirmative. “And what exactly
is the nature of this particular mission of yours?” Morgana asked,
holding the ball of energy threateningly high.

“I
think you will,” said Morgana. “Why was the boy in your care?
What were you using
him for?”

“I'll
say no more!” Sonja insisted, and she steeled herself against the
sting on her right cheek. She gritted her teeth against the feeling
of a hundred needles stabbing her face, leaving behind a burning
sensation that lingered. Eluani took a few steps forward, looking her
over with the expectant eyes that reduced her to the level of a worm
being toyed with by a child. Morgana readied another ball of energy,
this one a brighter red than the last. “I'll ask again,” she said
dangerously, “what were you using that boy for?”

For
Aldine, I will endure! Sonja
willed herself as she was hit by the second blast. For
my army, for my people, for my king, I will endure! Another
blast seared her forehead, and she bit down on her tongue. It
angers them, she
thought with relish. My
resistance angers them, and they can do nothing about it but smack me
around like brutes! But
Sonja had forgotten about the psychic, who whispered in Morgana's
ear, and the satisfaction on the fairy's face told her exactly what
had been said. Oh
hell! Sonja
involuntarily recoiled, and was infuriated by the smirk on Morgana's
face when she caught her at it. “You've forgotten that you can't
hide anything from me,” she taunted. “Anything you hide, I will
find out sooner rather than later. Knowing that, don't you think it
would benefit you to just answer the questions and avoid the
consequences? Unless, of course, you are enjoying this.”

“You'll never get any
information out of me!” Sonja told her. “I don't give a damn how
else you get it, so long as that holds true! For my king, I shall
remain silent!”

“You're quite the loyal
one,” Morgana said, “or else you're incredibly indoctrinated.
Which one is it, do you think?” She regarded Sonja as if expecting
a genuine answer. She received nothing but determined silence, and
she sighed and shook her head. “So I suppose this spell isn't
cutting it,” she went on. “Perhaps you're just a little too used
to it. Perhaps I need to turn up the heat.” With a flick of her
fingers, the energy balls were swapped out for two deep orange
fireballs, dancing wildly as if taunting their would-be victim. But
Eluani caught her by the shoulder and pulled her aside. “It isn't
going to work,” she whispered. “She's far more willing to endure
the pain than she is to give anything up. Keep this up, and you're
more likely to kill her before she talks. Let me take over from here.
If I can make her feel secure enough, then I can sift through her
mind with ease.”

“Everyone has a breaking
point, Eluani,” Morgana told her. “The more we wear her down, the
closer she gets to cracking. The mind can be turned off, but physical
endurance can only go so far.”

“We could be here all
night and then some before we're able to break her,” Eluani said,
“and that's if we don't kill her first. I think you underestimate
how stubborn humans can really be, Morgana.” She turned back to the
prisoner then, regarding her with a smile that was so kind and serene
that it came off as dissonant and unsettling. “All right, Miss
Farrell,” she said, as if speaking to a frightened child, “if you
don't wish to talk, then we won't keep trying to force you. After
all, force only works against those who are willing to be forced.
It's very late and we're all quite exhausted, and I know you are as
well. You may sleep now, if you wish.”

“You're not fooling
anyone,” Sonja told her. “I'll worry about sleep when all
psychics and psychos get out of my sight. Until then, I will be
keeping at least one of these eyes wide open and fixed upon you. But
thank you for your permission. I can honestly say that you are the
most generous pair of torturers I've ever had.”

“Well, Morgana and I
won't be going anywhere, I'm afraid,” Eluani told her. “Knowing
that, you may do what you wish.” She pulled an old chair over to
the mage's side and settled down, and Sonja defiantly turned her head
away from her. “Morgana,” Eluani said with a voice like honey,
“will you go and fetch a cover and a pillow for our guest? And then
you can catch some sleep yourself, if you wish. I'll be up for a
while.”

“I sleep in the day,”
Morgana reminded her. “And why should I trouble myself with the
comfort of the enemy? She can wake up with a whip in her neck, for
all I care.”

“Morgana,”
Eluani said patiently, “go and get her a blanket and a pillow.”
With a groan, Morgana went off to do as she was told. At
least I don't have to waste time making a bed for her, she
consoled herself. I'll
draw the line at that!

This sudden cordiality from
her captor only heightened Sonja's anxieties. “What in the world
are you thinking, mind-reader?” she asked maliciously, and received
nothing but the most infuriating grin for an answer. “You cannot
expect me to believe you haven't got something up your sleeve!” She
shot Eluani a glare that she was sure could kill in the right
circumstances. “I'd rather curl up in dog shit than accept any
accommodations from you.”

“I'm afraid that we don't
have any of that on hand,” Eluani replied, “so what I can provide
will have to do.”

“Burn
in hell,” Sonja spat out, turning her head away again and forcing
her heavy eyes to remain open. She turned her thoughts to her
subordinates, who were surely on their way to reclaim her. Or
at least, they had better be, she
thought bitterly, or
else they had better be dead!

The
only indicator that the day had come was the tiny sliver of light
filtering through a slot in the cellar doors. The fairy and the
psychic were gone, and in spite of the pillow Sonja had been so
generously provided, she had a terrible ache in her neck and
shoulders. She could not remember when she had fallen asleep, but
between then and now, anything that had been on her mind had been
given up to the psychic. “Bloody
hell!” she
hollered, and unleashed a stream of further obscenities that would
have shocked the city drunks. Her racket attracted the attention of
Ion, who flung open the cellar doors and swiftly dealt her a heavy
blow to the face. “Silence, vermin!” he hollered, and she shut
her eyes against the dizziness that followed. “Good morning to you
too,” she said dryly once she regained her senses.

“Look at you, carrying on
like a filthy bar brawler without a lick of sense! What a fine way
for someone of your caliber to behave!”

“You
people aren't much better!” she said against her better judgement,
and he struck her again. Red-hot fury rose within her as she fought
to regain her wind. “You got what you wanted!” she shouted at
him. “Your psychic friend found what she was looking for and sucked
it all up like a sponge to kitchen water! What did she have to say
about me? Go on, tell me everything! It's not as if I don't already
know!” But Ion simply glared at her and left her alone in her
misery, ignoring the obscenities and attacks upon his character that
she cast at him as he departed. “These people are disgusting!”
she said aloud as he slammed the cellar door. “A thing of beauty
like the Jewel is wasted on such brutes!” She groaned and swore
under her breath, her face burning with anger and humiliation. The
moment she set foot on Rasta's soil, she had ceased to be Commander
Sonja Farrell and had become a worthless toy for everyone to play
rough with. She had been reduced to nothingness and cut off from her
magic—her only real strength—to be tied down and knocked around
like an angry child's ragdoll. Damn, damn, damn!

Unfortunately for Sonja,
she didn't have much time to mull over the injustice of her
situation; the pounding of feet and the hooves of those machine
horses sounded heavily over her head. Somebody was shouting
orders—she determined it to be the red-haired brute. A cacophony
like that could only mean one thing: an enemy. Sonja's tight lips
stretched into a smile. Her rescuers had made it, and once they got
her out of here, the Knights of the Jewel would wish they had never
come to know her at all.

The
din passed by the cellar door almost as soon as it had hit. Taking
several more hits to her injured pride, Sonja inhaled sharply and
cried out, “He-e-e-yyyy!”
She
had been beaten, bruised, tied down, and was now reduced to crying
out like a damsel in distress. You'll
go back to yourself again when this is over, Sonja, she
reassured herself as she raised her voice. Her calls turned to
shouts, which progressed to hollers, which finally escalated into
shrieks. She thrashed against her restraints, making as much noise as
she possibly could in her pathetic condition. She had screamed
herself completely hoarse before she realized that nobody was coming
for her and never would. The sounds of hoofbeats, clashing blades,
and gunfire had grown distant, indicating that the enemy—her
rescuers—had been driven away from the palace. Well,
she
thought resignedly, letting her head drop, I'm
screwed. I am well and truly screwed.

She
closed her eyes to the distant sounds of the battle.

Lovisa!
I'm going to see Lovisa!

As
Magus buttoned up the clean red boy's shirt he had chosen from his
new wardrobe, he shuffled and danced around his new room like a
little child anticipating some wonderful event. Those feet that felt
so heavy for so many years now couldn't keep still, and Magus had to
look down at them to make sure that they hadn't left the ground. He
had spent the night in a bed just as soft and warm as the one he had
in Lovisa's room, and he had just enjoyed the kind of breakfast he
had only ever seen through others' windows or read about in books:
three fluffy, sweet pancakes with blueberries baked inside and a hill
of thick whipped cream. Of course he had asked for more when he was
finished, but Archmage Leana, his new caretaker, smiled at him
good-naturedly and shook her head. “Just wait until lunchtime,
Magus,” she told him, “and we'll have sugar-plums! Would you like
that?”

“What am I to do while
you're away at the palace?” he asked Leana as he helped the
servants clear the breakfast dishes. They and Leana had been so kind
to him that he felt it was his duty to earn his keep. “You'll come
to the palace with me,” Leana told him. “You're already the talk
of the Magic Circle, you know! And the king himself has taken quite
an interest in your abilities.”

His
abilities.
Magus felt his stomach lurch. The image of soldiers crying out in
agony as their skin melted away from their bones came back to him, as
did the terrible dream that he had managed to forget. He began to
shake. Don't
think about it, Magus, he
ordered himself. He turned back to Leana and asked, “Would it be
all right if I were to visit Lovisa instead?” He added sheepishly,
“I wouldn't want to be in your way.”

“You wouldn't be in my
way, Magus,” she told him, tousling his hair. “But yes, you can
see Lovisa.”

Much
more than he anticipated sugar-plums, Magus anticipated a visit to
his sweet, gentle new friend who had treated him with kindness he had
never been shown before. He finished dressing and half-ran,
half-skipped out to the carriage where Leana was waiting for him. She
smiled prettily when she asked, “All set to go?” He nodded and
boarded, just barely catching himself from flinging into the seat. As
the carriage departed, he rested his head against the window and once
again took in the sights of city that was to be his home from now on.
Home.
The
word just didn't sound right to him, not yet. He tried not to think
about it, instead focusing his attention on the city, which was
leagues ahead of Aldine's capital city in terms of development.
Aldine had never thought—or perhaps did not possess the
technological ability—to separate its large cities into multiple
levels to minimize crowding. They had human janitors clean the
streets only when they could be bothered to clean them at all, and
they could never work fast enough to keep the streets from getting
dirty again almost as soon as they'd begun. Magus was captivated by
the mechanical street cleaners that worked so diligently at their
tasks. He admired the buildings that were tall enough to touch the
sky with their metallic spires, and he was warmed by the positive
energy that all of the people seemed to possess, even in a time of
war. Perhaps he might have fared better on the streets if the streets
back home were more like the streets here.
That's a load of bull, he
scolded himself, forcing such a thought away. The
streets are the streets, no matter where they are, and the streets
are cruel. He
would rather die than ever return to that life.

“You
know,” Leana said, interrupting Magus' thoughts, “the king would
like
to see you, perhaps tomorrow if not today. I know that must sound a
little scary to you, but our king is one of the kindest that you
could ever meet. You must understand that at a time like this, we
need all of the manpower we can possibly get, and the king is very
interested in a young man who can take out an entire army all on his
own.”

“I
don't want to do it!” Magus said quickly, without looking at her.
“I don't want to kill! I don't want to destroy! I never want to set
fire to another thing again!” Tears came to his eyes, and he
quickly shifted his thoughts to his friend Lovisa. She was a magic
user, and he couldn't imagine that she would ever use her magic to
kill. He wanted to be Lovisa's kind of magic user—a healer, not a
destroyer. He knew that he had the power to heal and restore; he had
discovered it in his many long years of practice. It sickened him
that the magic that had once been his only friend had become a tool
to be used for destruction and carnage. “I...I want to heal!” he
said, his tearful face giving way to an expression of fierce
determination. “I'll use my magic to care for others! I want to
heal
entire
armies, not destroy them! Let someone else be the destroyer. I'll be
the healer!” He turned to Leana and asked hopefully, “Could I do
that? Could I be a healer?”

“Oh, Magus...” Leana
put her arm around him and patted his shoulder gently. “Of course
you can be a healer! But Lovisa is still quite new to magic, and I'm
not skilled enough in the healing arts to teach you myself. I'll talk
to a few of my colleagues and see what they have to say about it.”
She smiled softly, and patted him again. “There is always a need
for healers.”

Magus returned her smile.
Still, he couldn't wrap his head around the idea of fighting in an
army, even as a healer. But the thought of using his magic to care
for others gave him a glorious feeling that he couldn't remember ever
having felt before now. Contentedly, he sank against the carriage's
seat and anticipated the sight of his friend, regarding him fondly
with her blue eyes just sparkling in the summer sun...

The
dirt road that led out to the Palace of the Jewel was too rough for
the carriage to manage. They abandoned it by the signboard, and Magus
heard Leana turn a key in a padlock. He reached for Leana's hand as
they walked. The air was still, the reeds and grasses lightly rustled
by the breeze that gave the two a welcome relief from the summer
heat. Something
is wrong, thought
Magus suddenly, and no matter how he told himself not to be silly, he
couldn't shake the thought. He turned to Leana, but the archmage's
face was neutral. He let go of her hand and quickened his pace.

“Magus!” Leana called
after him. “Where are you going?”

“There's something wrong,
Leana!” he said without looking back at her.

“Something
wrong with what?” she inquired, and Magus had to stop for a moment
to think about his answer. This feeling was mysterious, and for the
most part it was unfounded, but it affected him all the same.
“There's something wrong with the palace,” he said finally, “with
the knights...with Lovisa!” Then he darted ahead. His lanky legs
proved difficult for Leana to keep up with, but she followed him as
best as she could. When the princess brought the boy to her, and told
her of his troubled history and the immense but mysterious power that
he harbored, she had expected him to be more than a little strange.
Now, he was darting off in the direction of the Palace of the Jewel
as if he had always known the way, in hot pursuit of some unknown
threat that had made its way into his mind. Is
he psychic as well as magical? Leana
wondered. Nothing about Magus could surprise her anymore.

In
the distance, Leana heard the all-too-familiar sounds of magical
combat: sudden bursts of flames, the crackle of energy spells, the
abrupt strike of a bolt issued forth from a mage's hand, and
explosion after explosion at the points of impact. Mages were
clashing in the area, and even if it had been silent (as so many
spells were), she could sense the magic as if it was calling out to
her. “Magus!” she cried out. “Magus, stop! It isn't safe!
Magus, come back!”
But the boy was too driven by his impulse. The only way to stop him
was to catch him, and he was far too quick for that.

These
sounds were just as familiar to Magus as they were to Leana. He
recognized them from his long days of training—at the convent,
under his commanding officers, on his own during his street days—and
it was all destruction. There was no clerical magic that would create
such a racket. I
don't want to fight, Magus
thought to himself, but
if the palace—the knights—are under attack, then I will! I'll
fight for them! The
sound of a sudden heavy crash shook the ground beneath him, so that
he nearly tripped over his feet. The rumbling that ensued brought
rockslides to mind, but of course it wasn't a rockslide. Magus' heart
skipped a few beats. He closed his eyes and let himself be overtaken
by the wind around him. The gusts picked up, growing faster,
stronger, and he became one with them. They picked him up off of his
speedy legs, and he was flying. He forced himself ahead, opening his
eyes. The world was laid out beneath him now, and in spite of the
circumstances, it was quite a pleasant feeling. He had used the power
of flight to evade capture many times, and he was so quick about it
that no one ever noticed his escape. So
why didn't I just fly away when the knights caught me? As
soon as the question entered his mind, he knew the answer.

When Magus finally caught
up with the knights, he let out a cry. Only four—Ion, Troy, Alicia,
and Morgana—were still fighting. Eluani and Lovisa had been thrown
to the ground like forgotten ragdolls, and there was no sign of
Sanjaia or Rodin. Fury rose inside of Magus as he took in the sight
of his friend, pathetically sprawled out on the grass and struggling
to lift her head. Everytime she tried, it was forced back to the
ground with a pained grimace, and he thought he heard a groan escape
her lips.

When Magus caught sight of
their enemies, the boiling anger inside of him spilled over. He knew
the two of them all too well; Sonja's two subordinates, who took
sadistic pleasure in boxing his ears and singing his skin with their
flames. They wielded the two artistically-carved staves that they so
often brought down over his head whenever they felt like it—such a
horrible waste of such beautiful staves that the students at the
mages' convent would've killed to have! Magus released his anger in
the form of a thunderclap, and then another. The ring of sky around
him darkened to reflect what was inside. Another clap, and the brutes
turned their heads to look at him. With one shout and two quick
flashes of light, they crumpled to the ground.

Upon
landing, Magus ran to Lovisa's side and took her head in his hands. I
can heal her, he
told himself, I
know I can. But
the method of it evaded him. He had spent so long being used to
attack and destroy, with restoration channeled into rings and stones
that he no longer had.

“Magus...” In spite of
her pain, there was a smile in Lovisa's eyes. He patted her gently.
“I'll take care of you,” he told her. “You took care of me.”
Now she smiled for real. His magic was impulsive, fueled by whatever
was inside of him. So why didn't his painful desire to heal his
friend amount to anything at all? But oh, perhaps it did, for the
girl was finding it much easier to keep her head lifted.

Magus
hadn't heard Leana come up behind him, but now she knelt over Lovisa
and said, “Let me take care of her, Magus.” When Magus' face
fell, she said, “It's all right, you've done very well.” But
Magus would not leave his friend's side. He held both of her hands as
the archmage's staff lit up with a warm yellow glow that matched
Lovisa's hair. He looked to Eluani and saw that Morgana was tending
to her. I
haven't done well, he
thought. I
couldn't heal her. I couldn't heal either one of them. He
blinked rapidly to stop the tears that had come to his eyes. Lovisa
stirred as her energy returned, until finally, she sat up. “I can
take it from here,” she said to them both. “Thank you. And thank
you, Magus.”

“I've done nothing for
you,” Magus said despairingly.

“What are you talking
about?” asked Troy, who had come over to join them. “You took
down both of those bastards in one shot!”

“Two shots,” Magus
corrected him.

“Either way,” said
Troy, “you've got no business saying you've done nothing for us.”
He clapped Magus on the shoulder. Immediately, Magus felt a rush of
pride, and he looked down at his feet to hide his face. Of course he
had done something, but he did not feel he had the right to be proud
when he should have done so much more.

About Me

I'm Star Nova, and I like to tell stories. This blog used to be more topical, but then just became a place where I could easily hold my stories. I have several short stories and two big works in progress, as well as some old crap and some pending revisions OF some old crap.
I write in order to share how I see the world, from my own perspective. If you're here, you're probably here from Tumblr or Twitter. I hope you like my stories. And if you don't, I hope you at least read them before you decide that. (: